Frolic and Play, the Eskimo Way
by bemusedbicycle
Summary: When a snow storm hits Storybrooke, Emma decides to check in on Hook to make sure he's keeping warm. Pure Captain Swan holiday fluff (smuff? Maybe? I never know).


Emma takes a sip of her hot chocolate and stares hard at the window, watching the snow swirl and twist outside. The wind was getting pretty intense, making it hard to see the streetlights just across the way.

Henry and Mary Margaret spin around the kitchen in a flurry of activity, mixing different icings and rolling out gingerbread dough. Christmas music is playing lightly in the background and it's so domestic and perfect and wonderful, it makes Emma's heart hurt.

She shakes her head and turns her gaze away from the snow storm outside and lets her eyes find Henry. He's laughing loudly, head thrown back as Mary Margaret tickles his rib cage. Emma finds herself smiling along with them, the ache in her heart at lost holidays and missed chances disappearing instantly.

David strolls into the room and she watches as a he slowly, carefully takes in the scene before him. A sad grin pulls at his lips and she feels a tug in her chest at the familiarity in the expression. He meets her gaze and she gives him a soft smile. He returns it, eyes brightening, seemingly coming to the same conclusion she did and steps further into the kitchen, finding Mary Margaret and pressing a kiss to her head.

"I was just watching the weather - they say it's going to be a pretty bad storm." Emma's eyes dart back to the window.

"Good thing we're making all these gingerbread cookies then!" Henry supplies and Emma grins, reaching over the counter and ruffling his hair. He swats at her but his lopsided smile tells her he doesn't really mind. Her eyes drift back to David and he's looking at her with a slight frown on his face.

Suddenly self-conscious, she slides back into her seat. "What?"

He shakes his head and squeezes Mary Margaret's shoulders. "It's nothing, I-" He pauses and Emma arches an eyebrow. "I just think maybe we should check on Hook."

Both of Emma's eyebrows jump to her hairline. "You want to check on Hook?"

He shrugs and grins. "He's grown on me. Plus, I don't think he's very equipped for a winter storm."

Emma thinks about all that leather and tilts her head to the side. No. No he was _not at all _equipped for a winter storm. She sighs and puts her mug down on the counter.

"I'll go check on him."

In her haste to pull on wool socks and boots, she misses the knowing look exchanged between her parents.

-/-

The wind is howling and the snow is coming down thick so when she finally makes on board the Jolly Roger (she totally _did not_ slip down the docks), she breaths a short-lived sigh of relief before she is striding towards the door the leads below deck and ducking in.

Being below deck does little in the way of warmth and she rubs her gloved hands against her arms furiously. She can see her breath in the air in front of her and lets her feet guide her to where a faint glow is peeking from under the galley door.

"Hook?" She pushes through the door and has to forcibly restrain herself from laughing out loud.

There Hook sits, in all his ferocious glory, swaddled like a baby in a thick blanket. All she can make out of him is the top of his head, jet black hair sticking up at odd angles, blue eyes regarding her with a bored expression.

The stove is glowing, a small fire struggling to survive. She strides towards him and he follows her movement with narrowed eyes, daring her to say something.

She can't help it.

"Did you burrito yourself?"

She watches as his thick eyebrows cinch together in confusion.

"I am unfamiliar with the term." It's muffled and barely intelligible from beneath the blankets. "But if you are referring to the means in which I am keeping myself alive in your dreadful climate, then yes, I suppose I have _banditoed_ myself, Swan."

"Burrito-" She starts but decides it's not worth it. She sighs and frowns, regarding the shivering pirate wrapped in his blanket. She makes her decision quickly.

"Come on," She reaches out towards him, palm up. "You're coming home with me."

Two black eyebrows shoot up and mirth dances in his eyes.

"Well, you're very forward."

-/-

David and Mary Margaret, for their part, look casually unsurprised when she returns with a pirate in tow. Henry thinks it's the best news _ever_ that Captain Hook is spending the night and immediately leads Hook into the kitchen, pointing out various icings and batters and cookie cutters and talking a mile a minute.

Hook looks shocked for only a moment before an easy happiness twists his features and he's murmuring along with Henry. Henry is all too eager to answer his questions and Emma finds herself relaxing at the seamless way Hook folds into their activities.

She doesn't let her mind dwell on it.

Not one bit.

The evening passes itself in a comfortable blur. Henry and Mary Margaret create a full gingerbread village, while Hook and David struggle to even ice a cookie correctly. When David finally manages to get one wall standing on his house, Hook "accidentally" spears it with his namesake. Mary Margaret decides that's an excellent opportunity to call it an evening and her and David disappear upstairs, David pouting all the way.

"Alright, kid, bed for you too."

"Come on, Mom! I've only had like three cookies!" Henry and Hook are sitting side by side at the counter, munching on broken pieces of cookie slathered in icing. It would be a miracle if Henry even fell asleep.

She rolls her eyes. "You've had like twelve, and you know it. Now go upstairs and get ready for bed. Unless you want to help me clean up?"

Henry slides out of his chair with wide eyes and practically sprints up the stairs. She chuckles and grabs the plate of cookies from under Hook's grasp, ignoring the puppy-eyes he gives her in the process.

"Enough cookies for you too, buddy."

She starts to clean up the disaster of the kitchen, tossing out scraps of dough and piling the dirty dishes in the sink. Somewhere along the way, Hook begins to help her, silently handing her dishes, and wiping at the counter with a dish rag.

It's nice. Comfortable.

She finds herself watching his movements, shoulders flexing underneath the plain black t-shirt David let him borrow as he scrubs at the counter. Her eyes drift down to his hips and the way the flannel pajama pants sit low on his-

Nope, not going there.

She coughs and turns, running her hands under the warm water of the sink, willing her mind to think of something else. She _feels_ him approach, warmth against her back, as he drops the washcloth over her shoulder in the sink. She turns and barks out a laugh when she sees his face.

"What?" He looks bewildered and a little panicked, blue eyes wide, and she chuckles. She reaches forward and grabs his chin with her hand, stubble rough under her fingertips.

"Here, let me." With her other hand, she swipes her thumb against the corner of his mouth, across the line of icing that's smeared on his face.

And she meant it innocently, she _swears_, but as soon as her thumb touches his mouth, tension bursts hot and thick between them.

His lips part on a shaky inhale as her thumb drags along his bottom lip, and she forces herself to keep her gaze on his mouth and not his eyes (like that is _so_ difficult).

Without thinking, she pulls her hand back and pops her thumb into her mouth, humming slightly at the taste of sweet icing and the distinct spiciness of _him_. Her eyes find his and she feels her heart pick up when she sees the heat in his gaze. His eyes are a stormy blue, dark and _hungry_, and she should probably step away, but his hook finds her belt loop and she's being tugged closer, hips knocking into his.

His eyes stay on hers as his hand reaches for something on the counter and then his fingers are dancing along her neck, leaving sparks in a trail against her skin. She feels something cool and smooth along her jaw line and her heart is beating so fast, she is surprised it's not jumping out of her chest. His eyes finally leave hers as his head tilts to the side and he quirks an eyebrow, admiring his work.

His fingers sink into her hair and anchor there, hand heavy and warm.

"You've got a bit of something on your face, lass." His voice is rough, sliding over her and making her think of dangerous things. His eyes dart back to hers and hold there and she knows he's giving her a choice. She could step back, _should_ step back, and he would drop his hand, make a joke, and this all would go away.

Instead her hand falls to his hook, sliding up his forearm and curling her fingers around the warm skin there. She raises an eyebrow of her own and he smirks, eyes flashing. But he doesn't bring his hand to her face, no, _of course not_. His head dips and she feels his warm breath on her collarbone before his lips land on her jaw. She inhales sharply and his lips part - tongue warm against her skin as he pulls his mouth down the full line of her jaw. His teeth nip her chin lightly and then he pulls away, his breath sweet and warm as he exhales over her.

His tongue sweeps along his bottom lip and she watches the movement with hooded eyes.

This is dangerous.

"Delicious." He mutters and she just _can't_ with this. The hand not bracing herself on his arm finds the back of his neck and she wrenches him forward, lips colliding. Watching him be domestic was such a _turn on_ and Jesus, he just _licked her face._

His hand tightens and then releases in her hair and she sighs into his mouth at the rush of warmth that courses through her body.

His lips are soft and gentle over hers, sucking lightly at her bottom lip before his hand tightens in her hair again. He tilts her head to the side, changing the angle, and her hand slips down his neck and fists into his t-shirt. His tongue slides against the seam of her lips she opens beneath him, a soft moan lost between them as their tongues meet. His hook tugs her closer and she smiles into their kiss when her knees knock into his.

He groans when she takes a step forward, pushing him against the kitchen island and pressing her chest against his. His hand slips out of her hair and down her back, burning a trail of fire in its wake. His fingers toy with the hem of her sweater for a moment and then his skin is against hers, palm heavy and dragging up her bare back. His mouth moves desperately over hers and she pants into his mouth.

She needs _more _- more warmth, more him, more this.

Her fingers drift to the waistband of his pants and she slips just her fingertips under the elastic, his skin searing under her touch. His hips buck into hers seemingly unconsciously and she whimpers as heat coils low in her belly. He growls and squeezes her ribcage, pulling her tighter, kissing her deeper.

A dull thud sounds above them and they both freeze like guilty teenagers, rigid against one another.

She relaxes when she doesn't hear any further movement come from above them, forehead falling against his shoulder. His hand is warm and comforting against her back and she wants to stay like this, just like this, forever. This is easy. This is simple. Not like-

"Stop thinking." He murmurs and she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head. His hand is rubbing a gentle rhythm against her back and she sighs, melting further into his arms.

Her eyes feel heavy and he chuckles when she jolts against him.

"Come on, princess. Off to bed with you."

His hand slips out from under her sweater and she frowns. "I'm not a princess."

His eyes are soft when she pulls back from his chest and her stomach down something weird so she punctuates her princess point with a punch to his shoulder. He flinches dramatically and pretends to stumble and she grins despite herself. He returns her grin and she rolls her eyes, pushing away from him and heading towards the stairs.

"I put some blankets on the couch for you earlier, there are more in the closet at the end of the hall if you need any."

He nods, the same soft look on his face. "Aye, thank you." He pauses, scratching at the back of his head. "I appreciate the kindness you've shown me - letting me into your home."

She feels that same weirdness in her stomach and continues to back towards the stairs. "It's no problem, you'd have done the same."

He grins broad at that, eyebrows doing something vulgar. But the eye roll she gives him before she finally turns her back to him is decidedly lacking. She hears a soft "Goodnight, Emma" drift up the stairs behind her and she bites her lip in an effort not to smile.

-/-

When she wakes up in the morning and shuffles down the stairs, Henry is already awake, laid across the couch where Hook's bed is made up. Hook is reclined casually on the far end, Henry's feet perched in his lap and together they stare at the television with intense concentration.

"But why does that woodland creature have a glowing nose?"

Henry sighs a long-suffering sigh. "It's a _reindeer_, his name is _Rudolph_, and h_e _is _magic_."


End file.
